


Headlights

by cecilkirk



Series: fic prompts [16]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Split, Ryden, suicidal!ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:56:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilkirk/pseuds/cecilkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon shouldn't care about this news, and yet..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headlights

Despite severed ties weeks covered in dust, he found out.

Friend of a friend of a friend, he supposed. It had been a name Brendon didn’t recognize in the slightest, a number uncatalogued in his phone. There wasn’t even any reason to believe the caller. Anyone could have easily made up the story and picked up the phone. Only a handful of words were even uttered—no explanation of what had happened or why. And yet—

And yet, even the name in his ears was all the proof he needed.

There was no light in front of him. Cars were few and far between. The digital clock glowed with more power than seemed possible, digging back past his eyes and inching into his brain. The road began to move and bleed together, endless now. He had been driving for six hours, and it had felt like a week.

He squeezes his hands around the steering wheel, knuckles aching in protest. He hadn’t even told Sarah he’d left. She had only been out for a moment—as fate would have it, the right moment. He couldn’t contact her even if he wanted; it had plummeted from his hand to the wood floor of the kitchen and shattered beyond belief. Completely useless, but it remained in his pocket nonetheless.

Brendon blinks tightly, trying to flush away exhaustion. Some whiny breakup song he doesn’t recognize bleeds through the speakers.

He remembers being on the receiving end of cross-country travel.

And then—and then—

this is the tipping point. The breaking point. The point of no return.

And maybe it’s because it’s three in the morning, and maybe it’s because the news of an old love trying to take his own life, and maybe it’s because the loneliness of the open road is seeping into his bones, but he can’t handle it. And suddenly he remembers the night of Ryan’s birthday, the night he flew all the way to Brendon because he couldn’t stand the loneliness, the night—the night—the first night they shared a bed and talked and slept and couldn’t have possibly imagined extricating one from the other and the first night they said—

He sucks in a sharp breath. His fingers won’t tremble if he tightens them harder.

No that it mattered. Not that any of this mattered. Whatever they had had been ended. Done. Left to collect dust on a bookcase somewhere. And Brendon was very much in love and irrefutably the happiest he had ever been.

Road signs tell him he has about five hours left. Just over halfway there.

And this didn’t mean anything either. They had been—they had been friends, maybe still were in a way. Brendon would hope Ryan would do the same if their positions had been reversed. But Brendon also knew they were not created for opposite ends.

The sound of something slamming the windshield sends a wave of shock and fresh awareness through his body. Again, and again; it’s raining now.

Brendon sighs, letting out far more air than necessary. He wants to rid every cell of the anxiety.

Was this even anxiety? What would he be anxious about? What could he possibly fear?

( _he knew exactly what he feared_ )

–but that couldn’t happen, not now, not after all these years, of course

( _but didn’t he want it to?_ )

not. No way. Absolutely

( _he absolutely wanted it to_ )

impossible.

In, out. Brendon lets air fill every crevice of his lungs. Rationale creeps back into his thoughts like a wooden frame—something to keep them contained, in check, controlled. It begins to rain harder. He turns on his windshield wipers and can’t help but think some corner of the universe is creating this scenario, this weather, uniquely for him.

Brendon swallows, turning up the radio. He doesn’t know what’s playing; he doesn’t care. It’s loud, and that’s all he needs, but it doesn’t drown out the one thought repeating interminably–

A sudden dense fog fills between his ribs. His eyes ache and he fears blinking; he knows that would be in itself a point of no return. He pries one hand from the steering wheel and lets it fall to his lap, curling, digging fingernails into palm just to feel something, just to bring him out of his thoughts before he got sucked into them, into the _one_ , and yet, and yet, he _knows_ —

Love and compatibility are not the same thing.

Ryan had taught him that.


End file.
